RWBYKARE: Intro R
by TeamMCDS
Summary: A tall dude walks into a bar to file a complaint. 'Nuff said.


RWBYKARE

A boy of seven feet sat outside the entrance to a large bar from across the street. The boy had dirty blonde hair in the form of a mohawk ponytail and a similarly colored handlebar mustache complete with stubble. His clothes consisted of brown cargo pants and a long-sleeved white shirt with the arm sleeve of the left side completely torn off up to the shoulder. The shirt was heavily stained with dirt, grease, and small patches of blood. On the ground next to him lay a dirty brown fur coat which looked like it was made from the skin of a grizzly bear.

His left arm was covered in scar tissue. One particular scar ran from the back of his hand's wrist, traveling all the way down to his elbow. On his back was slung two massive axe blades. One blade glowed a fiery red while the other shone with an icy blue color. His footwear consisted of a pair of well-worn, steel-toed work boots, once of which had both shoelaces missing.

He stood up, picked up his bearskin coat, and made his way across the street to the bar from which the sounds of loud rock music and hearty cheers could be heard. He opened the door with such force that it flew off its hinges and smashed against the bottom of the bar across the room, breaking into large pieces and splinters. The talk and chatter ceased almost at once as the tall lad casually strode across the room to the damaged bar counter, the remains of the door crunching beneath his heavy boots.

Once he reached the counter, he gave a cheerful grin to the bartender who was sweating visibly at the sight of this powerful lad.

"Umm, sir?" the bartender said nervously, "You're gonna have to pay for the damage you caused."  
"Hah!" the lad said heartily, "The Great Ragnar Ironside need not pay with money! But with muscles!" He flexed his exposed left arm, showing off his insanely large biceps while grinning like a child giving a present to his dear mother.

At this point, the poor bartender relaxed tremendously as he realized this guy was just an imbecile.

"Sir? Your muscles are nice but you need to pay with lien, not your biceps." The bartender persisted, now backing away from the bar counter in order stay as far away as possible from Ragnar.

Ragnar nonchalantly looked at the palm of his hand where the sentence "Can The Great Ragnar Ironside open a tab?" was written. He then asked this question to the slightly irritated bartender.

"Sir," The bartender said as calmly as possible but with a trace of irritation, "Can we deal with the door first? Then I'll see what I can do you for."

Ragnar slowly looked a full 360 degrees around the full, but completely silent, barroom before returning his attention to the bartender.

"What door?"

The bartender replied, a little more irritated than before, "The one you just shattered with your fists."

"Is there another way to open doors besides breaking them?" Ragnar asked.

The bartender looked dumbfounded by the dimness of Ragnar Ironside and didn't reply.

Ragnar coolly looked at his palm again before saying, "Ragnar would like to see your boss."

The bartender beckoned to Ragnar who followed him to the back room where there was a black door with a silver handle, a bronze viewport, and a gold plaque the inscription "Manager" on it. The bartender knocked three times and the viewport opened to reveal a man with dark glasses.

"What is it?"

"This guy, uh… wants to see the manager." The bartender said nervously, glancing at the towering figure of Ragnar behind him.

The viewport closed, the door opened, and the dark glassed man gestured to the bartender to return to his post before beckoning Ragnar inside. Ragnar strode up to the doorway but he was so tall that when he hit his forehead on the top of the doorframe, the doorframe broke, leaving a large crack in it where his forehead came into contact with it. Ragnar took a few steps back in surprise at the damage he caused with merely a bump and, after a few seconds, he proceeded to crawl like a toddler on all fours through the doorway instead.

Once inside the back office, he took in his surroundings. The silver-grey walls where lined with cedar wood shelves, sporting the most expensive kinds liquor from all four of the kingdoms with a few of them being from Menagerie. In the middle of the room, there was a giant black table, surrounded by at least fourteen other guards identical to the man who had opened the door for Ragnar. Behind the table, sat a man in a formal business uniform complete with black tie, white shirt, and dark green pantsuit. It was clear to Ragnar that the man who sat behind the table was the guy in charge.

Ragnar easily pushed himself into a standing position, using his right thumb. The sitting man stared at Ragnar for about a minute. He shifted uneasily in his seat before he spoke.

"You wanted to see me?" The manager asked as Ragnar calmly walked up to the expensive cedar shelves, took a vintage bottle of oak barrel-aged whiskey from Mistral and, with perfect aim, chucked it at the doorman's head. The bottle completely shattered upon contact with the doorman's head, knocking him out cold and staining the immediate floor with the bottle's contents. Soon, the room was filled with the scent of vintage Mistral whiskey.

Dumbfounded, the fourteen other guards and the manager did nothing as the sudden attack caught them off guard. Seizing the opportunity, Ragnar followed this up with fourteen more perfectly aimed shots to the head of each guard using different bottles of expensive alcohol for each headshot. In no time at all, the manager was the only one left sitting in his chair with a look of pure shock on his face.

Ragnar calmly walked up to the enormous table, seized one end of it, lifted it off the ground with one hand before throwing it to the other side of the room where it smashed into the wall with an almighty crash that shook the entire building ominously. With nothing between them now, Ragnar strode up to the terrified manager. The manager stood up and back himself into the wall as the tall form of Ragnar closed the distance between them with terrifying strides. Soon Ragnar was practically on top of him. Ragnar brought his head level with the manager before speaking.

"Ragnar would like to file a complaint." Ragnar said casually.

—

The screams of what sounded like a little girl emanated from the employee hallway, causing every patron who hadn't ducked behind their table when the crashing began to do so now. The crashing shook the building, knocking multiple bottles and glasses off of the shelves onto the floor. Suddenly, a long-drawn-out scream was heard which was then followed by an impenetrable silence. After a few seconds, nervous patrons began to timidly peek over their tables in the direction of where the screams had come from.

After a minute of waiting, the sound of heavy bootsteps were heard and the looming form of Ragnar Ironside entered the barroom from the employee hallway. Ragnar looked around the room and noticed the bartender from earlier. There were a few seconds of silence between the two.

Then with the friendliest smile one could have ever seen on a person's face, Ragnar said, "The Great Ragnar Ironside has filed his complaint," and cheerfully walked towards the exit, winking at a very short boy with reddish medium-length hair and a white tip at the back end.

Once outside, there was a man with silver hair and a pair of small shaded spectacles. He carried a black cane with a silver handle in his right hand while in the left, he held a letter sealed with the emblem of the Kingdom of Vale. Behind him was a shiny black car with silver trim.

"Ragnar Ironside? My name is Professor Ozpin." The man said, handing the letter to Ragnar. "I look forward to bringing you into my school."

Ragnar took the letter and Ozpin got into his car and drove off down the road, leaving Ragnar all by himself in the street. Ragnar opened the letter and read it. After he finished reading it, he put the letter in the side pocket of his cargo pants, and looked up to the cloud-strewn evening sky before saying to himself, "Hmmm… Bacon Academy? Sounds delicious."


End file.
